AKA Some Girls Are
by need not
Summary: "Are you okay?" Trish asks. And then, before she can stop herself— "I did mean it, you know. Having you around doesn't bother me." Pre-series, how Trish & Jessica's relationship developed
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** **I'm back with a new series! This'll focus on Trish and Jessica's relationship through when they live together. I have no clue how long it'll be or where it'll go, but that's half the fun, isn't it?**

 **I know a lot of this dialogue is from AKA I've Got the Blues, but I needed a jumping off point. It'll be more original after this.**

 **Title from Courtney Summers' excellent book, SOME GIRLS ARE. Because it was too good not to use.**

* * *

She doesn't want to be here. In this hospital. With her mother, waiting on some charity case they're going to take home to help her image.

God, how fucked up is this? Wandering through a hospital with Dorothy Walker, with bruises on her collarbone and her arms, _thank God it's winter_ so she can wear a turtleneck, and she can't even tell the people who could probably help her?

Dorothy's nails are like talons on Trish's skin, bright red, bloody talons, gripping so hard Trish would have to fight to wrench away. Which is the way Dorothy likes it, she supposes.

Still. She doesn't want to watch while her mother syrups up nurses and doctors for a charity case of a girl like she's some lost puppy. Worse still that it's some girl in her class, which means _everyone_ will be talking about this come Monday.

Not like they haven't already been talking about it, whispering about Jessie Jones's family dying in a horrific car accident, with Jessie the only survivor. Giggling about how she's such a freak, maybe she caused it.

No one likes Jessie. She's the weird girl with long hair who sits in the back of the class and keeps to herself.

But no one much likes Trish, either, she knows. She knows they just want to be friends with Patsy, want their fifteen-minute brush with fame.

Still though. Taking this girl in is going to be high school social suicide.

Dorothy's nails are still digging into Trish's arm, pulling her closer and closer to Jessica's room. And suddenly, Trish can see it clearly-Dorothy dropping them off Monday, Jessica still limping out of the car, Madison and Carly and Amanda gawking at the pair of them.

Trish balks, stopping Dorothy in her tracks just outside the room. "It's not fair. I don't even know her. We just go to the same school, why do I have to do this?"

Dorothy's mouth sets in a thin line. "And I don't want to cover up for a stupid starlet who set a nightclub on fire."

Jesus Christ, not this again. "It was a _tablecloth_. I don't know how it started."

She does, though. Passed out from a guy buying her drinks, cigarette she was using to look cool still in her hand.

"Because _you_ were passed out," Dorothy hisses.

"It's not the first time that somebody's passed out," Trish scoffs, and she doesn't know if she means herself or her mother after she's had a few too-many late-night drinks.

"And that's the headline of every tabloid. We have got to change the Patsy conversation. Taking in your little friend will be a start." And with that, Dorothy grips her arm again and pulls her into the room.

* * *

The wig is killing her.

Trish can't keep scratching at it, but at least it gives her something to do so she doesn't have to stare at her classmate, looking even paler and more fragile than normal.

Jesus. She hadn't expected _this._ She almost feels a flash of pity for Jessica, for the girl lying in front of her like she's dead.

This is suck a fucking awful idea.

She can hear the Patsy theme song playing behind her, the song that's become her life for years, always in the background no matter how hard she tries to block it out.

"This is torture," Trish says, and she's not sure she's talking about the wig or the effort it's taking not to look at her classmate.

"It's a photo op." Dorothy, glib as always, smoothing down nonexistent flyaways and almost lighting a cigarette before thinking better of it.

"Some photo op. She looks dead."

Shit, she hadn't meant to say that. What if she heard her?

Why does she care if she heard her? Jessica does look dead. It's freaking her out.

"She's awake sometimes. She's just not making new memories yet." Dorothy shuts her makeup compact with a snap and gives her daughter the _everything-is-fine-I-absolutely-promise_ smile.

"Well you can be the one to say 'Welcome back. By the way, your whole family's dead." Trish says, mimicking Dorothy's glib tone from earlier. Never mind that saying the words causes a twinge of guilt in her gut.

She tugs on her hair to distract herself.

"The doctors can tell her that. Will you stop messing with your wig? The doctors will be here any minute."

"It's itchy as hell."

She can feel the argument building between them already, the repercussions for talking back to Dorothy already playing in the back of Trish's head, the excuses she'll tell herself as she's hitting her later.

But before she can slip down too far into that reverie, a sound stops her. Jessica, breathing faintly and wheezily, eyes opening.

"Mom, Look. She's awake."

Trish steps forward hesitantly, like she might do something-what? Touch her? That's stupid.

But then Dorothy shoves her out of the way and takes the spotlight for herself, like she always does, and Trish finds herself wanting to mouth _sorry_ at this girl in front of her.

But she doesn't.

"Hi Jessie." Dorothy's syrupy sweet tone makes Trish want to gag. "I know you must be confused right now, but everything's gonna be okay. Patsy's gonna save you."

But the wig is itchy and Patsy isn't here, just Trish, and she's not capable of saving anyone.

Especially not Jessica Jones.

Especially not herself.


	2. AKA Day Drinking

Jessica isn't so bad. Not really.

It's not like Trish even notices she's there, half the time. She's so quiet, and when they get home from school she goes straight to her room.

Dorothy, in a rare moment of compassion, tells Trish to give her time, she's probably still grieving.

Trish is fine with this. If Jessica stays in her room she doesn't have to witness Dorothy's cruelty, and the fewer people who know about that, the better.

Some nights through the walls Trish can hear her sobbing, but she pretends not to notice.

(Sometimes she's sure Jess notices the bruises, but she pretends not to notice, too).

The girls at school have been simperingly sympathetic, but not to Jessica. To Trish. Whispers of oh you poor thing having to live with her isn't it awful isn't it tragic?

One times Jessica walked by while the girls were saying this, and the look she gave Trish made her face burn with shame.

But it's not like it's her fault, right? Not like it's her fault her friends are fake and plastic and only want to be around her because she's Patsy, and they really want to be friends with Patsy. Not her fault her friends think Jess is a freak and so of course all their sympathy is directed at Trish.

But there's an ugly twist in her gut at it, still.

Things change, one night. Not enough so Trish would notice at first, but when she looks back on it, later-

They come home from school, Trish careful to hide her face as they walk up the drive in case some idiot with a camera is lurking. (It's happened before).

But this time, Jess doesn't go straight to her room when they get in. Instead, she turns to Trish, sets her bags by the kitchen table. Dorothy isn't home, she's out "managing Trish's career," AKA day-drinking and flirting with men younger than she is.

"Does it bother you?" Jess asks as Trish sets her bag down.

"Does what bother me?"

"Having me around."

Trish blinks. She doesn't know what she expected Jessica to say, but it wasn't that.

"I mean I'm not asking you to be best friends with me or anything but-"

"It doesn't bother me," Trish blurts out, and Jessica fixes her with a dark-eyed stare that stops her cold.

"You're a terrible liar," Jess says finally, in that blunt way of hers.

"No, it really—it really doesn't," Trish says, but she cringes at the weakness in her own voice.

"I heard you talking to your friends," Jess says. "So I guess it has to bother you."

"They're not really my friends," Trish says. Jessica blinks. "What? You're being honest. I can be too."

"Then why do you hang out with them?"

Trish falters for an explanation. Anything she says to Jessica now is just going to sound stupid.

"Because I have to."

"You don't have to do anything."

"No, you don't understand—" Trish says, but then stops.

What was she going to say?

If I don't hang out with them Dorothy will know and Dorothy will—

It's not like she can say that.

Trish sighs. "Forget it. Never mind."

"Trish—"

"I'm going to my room," she snaps, and picks up her bag before Jess can say anything else.

* * *

She can't sleep. And it isn't because of the bruise on her collarbone or the Trig test she knows she'll fail tomorrow, but the look on Jess's face.

 _You're a terrible liar._

What did she mean by that? Lying about having Jess here? Lying about her friends not bothering her?

Lying about Dorothy?

She has to know, suddenly. She has to know what Jess meant.

Trish pushes herself up out of bed, expertly presses her ear to the door. The TV in the living room is on, some late-night talk show, but nothing else.

Trish Walker is an expert at sneaking out, sneaking around. She knows which floorboards to avoid, which spots in the house will give her away.

She sneaks down the hall to the old guest room, now Jess's room. And she's about to push open the door, ask Jess what she meant, when—

Crying. She hears crying.

Fuck.

Jess is crying.

She doesn't know what to do. Trish is really, really awful at consoling other people—not that she's too selfish to but that she doesn't know how; it's not like Dorothy is a model of compassion or anything.

But Jess is crying. And before Trish can stop herself, she quietly pushes open the door to Jess's bedroom.

Jess is sitting up in bed, the lights off so Trish has to squint to see her small frame against the pillow.

"What are you doing?" Jess hisses.

"Are you okay?" Trish asks. And then, before she can stop herself— "I did mean it, you know. Having you around doesn't bother me."

"You're just saying that because I'm crying," Jess says, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.

"I'm really not," Trish says in spite of herself.

Jess nods, like she's too sad, too tired to fight.

"Can I help?" Trish asks awkwardly after a minute, because fuck, this silence is killing her.

Jess shakes her head. "I don't think so."

"Okay," Trish says, and she pushes open Jess's door.

She's got one foot out when Jess speaks, so quiet Trish can't be sure she's heard anything for a second.

"Trish?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you... can you stay?" Jess asks, and she sniffs again.

Something in Trish cracks. Fear, the hard shell she's built up because of Dorothy, she doesn't know.

But she shuts Jess's door and she scoots in the narrow bed with her and before she can really comprehend what's happening Jess's head is on her shoulder and she's sniffing and Trish is rubbing her back and saying "It's okay, it's okay," over and over.

Though she doesn't know if she's saying it to herself or Jess.


	3. Fine Fine Fine

It gets a little easier, having Jess around. Though Trish would never admit that if asked.

Days turn into weeks turn into months, and suddenly they fall into a routine—eating breakfast together (banana for Trish who's watching her figure, coffee for Jessica because who wants to eat).

Dorothy is almost never around, Jess is learning.

(She's learning Trish flinches when Dorothy is around. She's also learning to keep her mouth shut.)

At school they ignore each other save for sly glances in the hallway when Trish's friends aren't looking.

And at night, when Jess can't sleep, Trish comes into her room and falls asleep with her.

Trish doesn't know what she feels for Jess, if it's some sort of strange tenderness or sisterly feeling for the sibling she's suddenly ended up with, or if it's something more—

She can't let herself think it's something more. A starlet who passes out at a party is one thing, but a starlet who kisses girls, especially one under Dorothy's roof? She'd be shipped off to boarding school and whisked under the rug in a matter of seconds.

And who knows what would happen to Jess.

So Trish stuffs her feelings about Jess down where she keeps other things she doesn't want to think about, like telling someone about Dorothy or the sleeping pills she has hidden under her mattress.

It's not like she takes the pills often. Not like Dorothy hits her hard enough to truly damage. Not like other girls don't have these feelings for their friends. Pretend everything's fine and maybe it will be, right?

And it is. For awhile.

* * *

The car pulls up and Trish tries not to wince when she sees it's Dorothy picking them up instead of the driver, a rare display of motherly affection Trish doesn't want to get used to.

(More like a display for everyone else, a see-what-a-caring-mother-I-am-to-Patsy, but that is a dangerous thought.)

Jess shoots Trish a questioning glance but doesn't say anything. Neither does Trish. Better to keep her mouth shut when Dorothy's actually trying lest she be reminded of how ungrateful she is later.

It isn't until Dorothy turns away from the school and the road that takes them home that Trish dares open her mouth.

"Um, Mom? Where are we going?"

Dorothy smiles at her in the rearview mirror. "Didn't I tell you? We've got an interview on the Whitney White show."

Whitney White. Her mother's favorite daytime talk-show host.

But it's the we that makes Trish balk and shoot a worried look at Jess.

"We?"

"Oh Patricia don't pretend I didn't tell you! Whitney wants to interview you and your little friend about how Patsy's saved her life."

But Dorothy hadn't told her. Hadn't told her because she knew Trish would have pitched a fit and said no, and Jess would've…

What would Jess have done?

"Mom, I really don't think this is such a good idea," Trish begins, but Dorothy shoots her a look in the rearview that says she'd better think it's the best goddamn idea in the entire world.

Jess is silent. Sullen. Trish wishes she would say something so she's not the only one who isn't okay with this.

Dorothy's speeding up, and Trish can see Jess's knuckles white on the door handle, and before she can stop herself she reaches over and takes her hand, mouths _it'll be okay_.

She's lying through her teeth, they both know it, but Jess offers her a shaky smile in return and maybe it will be fine.

But they both know she's lying.

 **a/n: Apologies for the short chapter; school was kicking my butt. Hope to have more up soon!**


	4. Spotlit

The Patsy wig is back on, and she hates it. The spotlights on her face are too hot, the makeup caked on too thick.

If the makeup artist saw the bruises on Patsy's collarbone when she was applying her makeup, she knew enough not to say anything.

They're sitting on the set of the _Wendy Williams Show_ , under the hot glare of the spotlights, waiting for Wendy herself to come in. Jess looks even paler than Trish has seen her, though that could be from the lights or the makeup.

But she still manages to shoot Trish a small smile, so that's something.

And then Wendy Williams walks on. The cameraman counts down, the music begins, and the audience applauds. Trish smiles, because she's used to this. Wendy Williams smiles back. Her teeth are so white they look blue, her hair a flaming box red. Next to her, Jess looks even smaller, pale face and dark hair, a photographic negative.

Wendy sits down and fixes her gaze on Trish, almost ignoring Jess completely.

"Patsy," she purrs. "It's been so long."

Trish swallows past the lump in her throat, forces herself to smile. She wants to reach for Jess's hand but doesn't dare.

"It has," she says, all sweetness and sugar.

"You've changed so much since I've seen you," Wendy says, and before Trish can say anything she reaches under Trish's chin and grabs her, inspecting. "Cheeks are fuller."

Trish resists the urge to scowl. She knows Dorothy will have something to say about it later.

And then Wendy launches into the whole story, how Jessica's family tragically died, how Patsy was so _kind_ and _brave_ to take her in. Poor girl with no parents, what's it like now growing up in the house of America's Teenage Sweetheart?

Jessica blinks, like it takes her a minute to realize the question is directed at her.

"Sweetheart?" Wendy says. "I asked what it's like to live with Patsy."

"It's fine," Jessica says, her voice soft. She looks like she wants to shrink into herself.

"Just fine?"

Trish wants to scream. Jess just lost her parents, and here this woman is asking her the stupidest questions. She wants to scream at Dorothy for making them do this.

"I mean—it's okay," Jess says. She looks over. "Trish is nice," she says, giving her a small smile that Trish can't help but return, because at least she didn't call her Patsy.

Wendy clicks her tongue. "I imagine it's much different than what you're used to."

"Bigger spaces and a nicer bed," Jess says. "Though I don't appreciate cameras following me everywhere I go."

Trish wants to laugh. Wendy looks like she just tasted something sour. She turns to Trish, composing herself.

"How has it been, adjusting to having a sister?" she asks.

Trish smiles. She knows what she's expected to say. _I always wanted a sister, this is the best, nothing is difficult and Jess and I are the absolute best of friends_.

Instead, she says, "It's a little weird—having to share."

She doesn't know what's compelling her to be honest, but here she is. The audience laughs at her admittance. "But I like it," she adds hastily. "Jess is—she's a good friend."

She won't say the word _sister_. The thoughts she's had for Jess are definitely _not_ sisterly.

"Do you think we'll see Jess on the show anytime soon?"

This time it's Jess who throws her head back and laughs. "Why would I want to be on _that_?"

Despite herself, Trish laughs too. Just a small giggle, but she knows the cameras—and Dorothy—caught it.

"Because—" Wendy says, and Trish watches as her face colors. "Do you know what an _opportunity_ you've been given? How many girls would _kill_ to be in your position? Living with Patsy?"

Something dangerous flashes behind Jess's eyes.

"I wouldn't call my family dying an _opportunity_ ," she says, each syllable bitten off crisp and clear. "I'm living with Trish because they took me in. Doesn't mean I like it. I'm grateful, but if I could have my family back? I'd do it in a fucking heartbeat."

Jess stands up. She's small, but she seems bigger to Trish in that moment. Her fists are clenched, and without another word, she stalks off the set.

Trish and Wendy sit under the lights, wordless, but Trish can't help but feel a smile flit across her face before she looks and catches Dorothy's eye.

Dorothy is _livid_.

And if she can't take it out on Jess-

Trish knows who she'll take it out on later.


End file.
